‘Doesn’t it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The timeframe is okay – within a hundred years or so, possibly less, right? Akhenaten died in 1334 BC. We know that. Moses is supposed to have left Egypt sometime during the thirteenth century BC – close enough. Agreed?’
‘So?’
‘Let’s go back to the eighteenth dynasty – fourteenth century BC, shall we?’ Carrington said, and looking around realised how many details he would need to fill in.
‘Fact: Akhenaten, the “Heretic King”, has just abolished all the gods and elevated Aten to the supreme position – Aten becomes the one and only true god. This is the first time we have monotheism,’ continued Carrington, ‘and there’s turmoil ... especially among the powerful priesthood that depends for its very existence and livelihood on serving a whole pantheon of gods. To make things worse, Akhenaten abandons Thebes, and builds a new capital – Akhetaten – 150 kilometres downstream. And this idea of one supreme god, this radical idea of the cult of the Aten, is only accepted by some of the well-educated elite. General population? They’re lost, confused and they’re desperate for old, familiar gods. As for the priests? They’re outright hostile and bide their time ...’
‘Thank you, Marcus, excellent lecture,’ said Khalil, showing her impatience, ‘but where is this going?’
‘Please, professor, bear with me ... there is a point.’ Carrington spoke more quickly now. ‘Once Akhenaten dies in 1334 BC, the abolished gods are reinstated, the priesthood is powerful again and the new pharaoh returns to Thebes. Aten is consigned to the dustbin of history – or is he?’
‘What are you suggesting?’ asked Khalil, drawing deeply on her cigarette.
‘What if the cult of the Aten went underground, monotheism survived, and it stayed, in secret among the elite. But the priests, who need to guard their privileges, destroy all images of Aten; any memory of Akhenaten’s erased.’
Professor Khalil looked at Marcus. ‘And then?’
‘Enter Moses, just a few decades later,’ Carrington continued. ‘What if Moses was a well-educated Egyptian, a priest perhaps, who believed in monotheism and was a secret follower of Aten? Monotheism is embraced by the Jews in captivity in Egypt – Moses becomes their spokesman, their champion.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s ... well it’s a win-win. He’s been exposed as a follower of Aten and made lots of enemies; even his friend, the pharaoh, turns against him and he cannot oppose the priests alone. So he sides with the Jews and takes up their cause – he’ll lead them out of bondage and out of Egypt. But he has to unite them, control their thinking, and he has to persuade the pharaoh to let them go. You know the rest. We’ve all read it in the Bible; the plagues, the Exodus.’
‘That’s quite a story,’ Professor Khalil said after a while. ‘Nothing but speculation, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Any more than other stories in the Old Testament?’ Jack interjected.
‘He does have a point,’ Haddad cut in.
‘Where’s the evidence?’ demanded the professor.
‘Right here in front of us,’ Carrington explained, pointing to the broken tablet.
‘Come on, Marcus, really ...’
‘What if,’ continued Carrington undeterred, ‘this tablet is authentic? What if it is one of the two original tablets of Moses? The fact it’s inscribed with hieroglyphs makes perfect sense. The Jews lived in Egypt for a very long time. They were familiar with the language and the writing.’
‘But weren’t the tablets supposed to have been inscribed by the finger of God? What, using hieroglyphs? Come on, Marcus!’
‘This is the second set, remember? The first set, the original, was inscribed by the finger of God; the Bible is quite clear about that. And I’m sure you know what happened to that.’
‘Well, the naked dancing round the idol you mean ... yes, so he smashed the tablets to pieces.’
‘Worshipping the Golden Calf, precisely! And then?’
‘Remind me.’
‘He was given a second set, remember? And he had to inscribe it himself.’
‘In hieroglyphs?’
‘Of course he would have used hieroglyphs – the obvious choice of a well-educated Egyptian like Moses!’ argued Carrington.
‘Not bad, go on.’
‘Then we have the Ark itself. What do those detailed instructions about its construction remind you of? A classic Egyptian shrine, wouldn’t you say? Like the ones in your museum. Moses had all the craftsmen with the necessary skills ...’ Carrington paused and walked across to the window. ‘Gods in shrines being carried around by priests with long poles resting on their shoulders is nothing new either ... get the picture?’
‘The Opet festival of ancient Thebes, right here in Luxor; the Amun procession between the two temples,’ said Professor Khalil quietly. ‘The god inside the portable shrine.’
‘Exactly. The idea was already there.’
‘But the evidence, Marcus, where’s the evidence?’ she said.
‘Why don’t you read on?’ Carrington suggested, pointing to the tray. ‘I can tell you exactly what the rest of the inscription says.’
‘You’ve seen it before!’
‘No, I haven’t; Naguib here can vouch for that.’
Haddad shook his head. ‘He hasn’t seen it.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Khalil, ‘but tell me anyway, what does it say?’
‘It recites five of the Ten Commandments. Then, it ends with a short hymn to Aten.’
Professor Khalil walked to the desk and ran the tips of her fingers across the hieroglyphs. This time, she said nothing for a long time and then turned slowly around.
‘How did you know?’ she asked quietly.
Carrington took a crumpled piece of paper out of his back pocket, smoothed out the wrinkles and put it on the desk next to the tray. ‘I knew, because of this.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Please, read it.’
The professor picked up the paper and turned towards the light.
‘I know I’m only the dumb policeman here,’ Haddad said, ‘but would someone please tell me what’s going on?’
‘I’m with you, Naguib,’ said Jack, shaking his head. ‘I’m confused.’
‘What Fatima has just read,’ Carrington explained quietly, ‘is a rubbing, a copy you could say, of the other Tablet of Moses ...’ Haddad shook his head. ‘It begins with: There is only one God, his name is Aten, then goes on to recite the first five Commandments and concludes with a hymn to Aten – just like this one here ...’
‘Where is it?’ asked Professor Khalil, her voice barely audible.
‘Until quite recently, it was in a bank vault in Switzerland. However, right now it’s in Rome with Krakowski ...’
‘How did you. ...’ She was interrupted by the phone ringing on Haddad’s desk. Haddad excused himself.
‘You were right, this is quite a story,’ said Jack, turning to Carrington. ‘I’d better ring my editor.’
‘You see, Jack, right place ... right time.’
‘Tell me about it. I’m usually a step or two behind; it’s the story of my life.’
‘Perhaps your luck is changing.’
‘It’s about bloody time!’
‘The day is full of surprises,’ announced Haddad, putting down the receiver. ‘Someone is downstairs trying to claim the body of Monsignor Frumentius.’
‘Who?’ Carrington asked.
‘His brother.’
97
Something about the old man in the simple, coarse woollen robe and little pillbox hat made Haddad want to stand to attention. It was an aura, a certain dignity that the others in the room sensed as well.
A holy man, thought Jack, looking at the lined face gleaming like polished ebony. Leaning on the arm of a younger man, the old man limped into the room with his prayer stick. Jack had felt something like this before; his first encounter with the Dalai Lama some years back. He pulled his
notepad out of his pocket and watched as the two black men bowed and the younger stepped forward.
‘This is Father Athanasius Mariam Selassie, brother of Monsignor Frumentius Mariam Selassie who was killed yesterday,’ he announced in English, pointing to the old man behind him. ‘He arrived this morning from Addis Ababa. As he only speaks Tigrigna, he has asked me to interpret for him.’
‘And you are?’ Haddad asked.
‘Forgive me, I’m Father Habakkuk,’ he continued, handing his passport to Haddad.
Vatican. Two in one day, how extraordinary, thought Haddad, searching for the date of entry into Egypt. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Father Athanasius has come to claim his brother’s body. He wants to take him back home to Axum for burial. He has a plane standing by ...’
‘I see. Can you tell me what Monsignor Frumentius was doing here in Luxor? He only arrived from Rome the other day, with you, I believe,’ added Haddad, watching the black priest carefully. ‘A sightseeing trip, perhaps?’
‘You are well informed, Chief Inspector.’
‘Goes with my job.’
‘Not exactly sightseeing,’ Habakkuk replied.
‘Can you enlighten us?’
‘We came here on Church business.’
‘What kind of Church business?’
Habakkuk smiled benignly. ‘I’m not at liberty to say ...’ The Vatican passport in Haddad’s hand suddenly made sense. Immunity.
‘I see. Well, unfortunately, the body cannot be released just now. Our investigations have not been completed, I’m afraid. However, I will see what I can do ...’
While Habakkuk translated, Jack noticed that the old man kept staring at the fragments on Haddad’s desk and was tugging at Habakkuk’s sleeve from behind. When Habakkuk turned around, the old man said something to him in a strange sounding tongue.
Habakkuk pointed to the desk. ‘Father Athanasius asks if those pieces over there belonged to the man who blew himself up at the temple last night.’
‘For a man who arrived from Addis Ababa only this morning, Father Athanasius appears to be exceptionally well informed,’ replied Haddad frostily.
‘It goes with his job,’ Habakkuk replied.
‘His job, you say? And what might that be?’
‘Father Athanasius is the Guardian of the Ark of the Covenant at the Church of Saint Mary of Zion at Axum.’ Carrington raised an eyebrow and glanced at Professor Khalil.
‘Yes, these are the pieces we found. Please have a look,’ interjected the professor, inviting the old man to come closer. The old man shuffled across to the desk and stared at the fragments on the tray.
‘Tabot Musa, Tabot Musa,’ he repeated over and over and his hands began to shake. For a moment it looked as if he were about to collapse, but Habakkuk managed to reach under his arm to steady him. The old man sank to his knees, dropped his stick and folded his hands in prayer.
‘What is he saying?’ Professor Khalil asked, reluctant to intrude into the old man’s meditation.
‘The Tablet of Moses,’ answered Habakkuk quietly.
‘How does he know that?’ Professor Khalil asked.
‘He’s the Guardian, he knows ...’
Still on his knees, the old man turned towards Haddad and said something in a shrill voice.
‘Father Athanasius humbles himself before you. He beseeches you, no, he begs you,’ translated Habakkuk, ‘to return this sacred relic to where it belongs.’
‘And where does it belong?’
‘It belongs ...’ Habakkuk paused, searching for the right way to express himself, ‘where it was removed from ... a long time ago. It belongs to its true home – inside the Ark of the Covenant.’
‘Is Father Athanasius referring to the original Ark of the Covenant mentioned in the Old Testament?’ probed Carrington. ‘Made according to instructions given by God to Moses?’
‘Of course.’
‘And where is the Ark today?’ Professor Khalil asked, watching Habakkuk carefully.
He looked at her for a while, uncertainty clouding his face. He appeared to hesitate before answering this time. ‘It is safe,’ he replied evasively. ‘You must understand, our country is a troubled land ... civil war, famine, poverty,’ Habakkuk explained. It was obvious that he was no longer just translating, but adding comments of his own.
‘But is Father Athanasius suggesting he knows where the original Ark is?’ Professor Khalil pressed on regardless.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s not up to me to make that decision,’ interrupted Haddad. ‘I will have to ask my superiors in Cairo.’ The old man looked at him sadly after the reply had been translated, picked up his prayer stick and got awkwardly to his feet. Lowering his head, he walked slowly towards the door. He stopped halfway, turned around and faced the desk once more. Raising his right hand in a blessing-like gesture, he said something quietly that Habakkuk did not translate.
‘What did he say?’ Jack asked.
‘The Guardian said the Ark will decide ... not Cairo,’ Habakkuk replied and followed the old man slowly out of the room.
‘I don’t like this guy,’ said Haddad, pointing to the door. ‘He gives me the creeps.’
98
Carrington looked up at the colossal Ramses II statue guarding the Luxor temple. The shadows were getting longer and the last of the tourists were leaving.
‘Naguib was right,’ Jana said softly, approaching Carrington from behind. The two bodyguards Haddad had insisted must accompany her at all times stayed discreetly in the background, watching. ‘He was certain I would find you here.’ Startled, Carrington looked up. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude.’
‘You are no intruder,’ Carrington replied. ‘Where’s Jack? I thought he was with you.’
‘We went shopping. New clothes, from the bazaar – see?’ Jana spun around, showing off her ill-fitting long skirt and blouse. ‘This is all we could find. Jack called it desert Armani.’
‘Most becoming.’
‘Liar.’
‘Did you make up?’
‘In a way we did. He saved my life, you said so yourself. However ...’
‘However, what?’
‘Nothing stands still, we’ve all changed. And besides, once something is broken you can never piece it together again without the cracks showing. Yes, we’ve made up, but the cracks are there; forever.’
‘Where’s Jack now?’ asked Carrington, changing direction.
‘Trying to contact his editor; he’s been on the phone all morning.’
Carrington shrugged. ‘You were right here, remember?’ he said, pointing to a spot on the ground. ‘Here with us, sitting next to Isabella ... You know, I could see it all again just now: the procession, the elephants, the torches, the carnage ... I heard the cheers, the drums ... the flying shrapnel,’ he continued haltingly. ‘Yet, in ancient times, these very walls witnessed another procession, a much happier one. This place was the symbolic heart of a great Theban religious festival,’ explained Carrington, ‘the Opet festival. Have you heard of it?’ Jana shook her head. ‘The Beautiful Feast of Opet, as it was called, celebrated the rebirth of divine kingship,’ continued Carrington. ‘Come, let me show you.’ Carrington took Jana by the hand and guided her towards the great colonnade of Amenhotep III.
‘Was this what you wanted to show us before the Aida performance when we ran into ...?’ Jana asked.
‘Balthazar with the biblical face,’ replied Carrington, pointing to a narrow breach in the temple wall. ‘Correct. The Defender of the Faith stood right there and refused to let us pass, remember? Now we know why.’ A wave of fear washed over Jana as she recalled Omar’s face encounter.
‘Here, look,’ said Carrington, pointing to the intricate carving in the temple wall. ‘During the festival, the god Amun was taken on a journey. He left his home in the Karnak temple sanctuary and came over here to Luxor.’
‘What, he went on a little holiday?’ Jana joked.
‘Not quite. The i
mage of the god was first bathed by the priests, dressed in fine linen, adorned with magnificent jewellery and placed into a shrine. The shrine was then carried by the priests on a ceremonial barque, right here to Luxor. Imagine, crowded avenues filled with cheering spectators watching the procession. And then came the highlight – the pharaoh himself, in all his splendour, waiting to greet the god.’
‘The priests walked?’
‘Sure, the two temples are quite close.’ Carrington pointed to the western wall. ‘This shows the journey of Amun from the Karnak temple to the temple sanctuary right here at Luxor. The return journey’s on the eastern wall.’ Jana admired Carrington’s enthusiasm and depth of knowledge, but found it difficult to keep up with him as he darted from one scene to the next. She stumbled and if it hadn’t been for Carrington’s strong arm catching her, she would have fallen.
‘You should be resting,’ he said sternly.
‘I wanted to see you ...’
Carrington squeezed her hand gratefully. ‘We had a strange visitor this afternoon,’ he explained.
‘I heard. The Guardian – of the Ark? Come on.’ Jana raised an eyebrow. ‘What did you make of him?’
‘The old man was all right, but there was a black priest with him, Father Habakkuk ...’
‘What about him?’
‘Haddad didn’t like him. Policeman’s instinct, I suppose.’
‘And you?’
‘Not sure, but it was an extraordinary encounter to say the least.’ Carrington smiled. ‘Benjamin would have called it destiny.’
‘And you, what would you call it?’
‘I’d agree. Just look at what’s happened to us. To you, to me, to Benjamin, even Jack. It’s as if we’re all somehow linked – in some kind of shared dream, some kind of strange quest. I no longer feel in control ... I want to wake up!’
Jana stroked his hand. ‘But you are awake, Marcus,’ she reminded him.
‘I know, and that’s the really scary bit. There will be no waking up, nothing goes away – the quest has become reality and it hasn’t finished yet.’ Holding hands, they strolled along the dromos, the avenue of human-headed sphinxes leading to the other great temple – Karnak – a short distance away.
The Empress Holds the Key Page 41
